A Disinteresting Shape

 -- How to submit an assignment in Kashmir--

It’s Coronavirus lockdown. I sit on my desk, as the screen shines upon my face. An open document is staring at me. It’s an assignment I have to submit in 24 hours.
I gaze at the wall behind. A tungsten red-light glazes across it, forming no shape. It’s disinteresting, yet I stare at it. I’m thinking, “how am I going to submit this assignment?”
There is no internet, there is no voice call or SMS service. I’d been struggling to keep up with my peers with an internet speed limited at 2G. Trying to keep videos on download overnight, waking up in the middle to check for failed downloads, and queue new ones. My eyes had developed dark circles, I was frustrated but I was trying hard not to lose hope. And, yet here I sit today, wondering what lies ahead?
All this while in my struggle so far, I’d been imagining the struggle of my cousins and loved ones studying in schools. Those who haven’t been to school in months. It used to pain me to think of them. I remember, a few years back, one of my little cousins, Fizu, who studies in Kashmir talking in English to my other cousin who studies in Delhi. And, god was Fizu better. I’d say smarter and hardworking too. But now, over the years, where has she ended, I used to think. With no school for years, how has she shaped, how has she evolved her social skills, what psychological impact did it have on her. It pained me to think of all this.

Over the years, I’ve realized that the pains of Kashmiri’s are okay to a non-Kashmiri. At most, it is something to be pitied upon, to be sorry about, and never something to be acted upon. Rather all of it is for the greater good. Our pangs, our sufferings all for the greater good.

Now, it was I who was the victim and it was not for the first time. From the beginning we’ve been disadvantaged, and now, I’ve begun to think it’s on purpose.

After all, what’s the point of limiting the internet speed to 2G? If one has to run propaganda, they can do it on 2G as well. How hard is it to upload a 3 min. video, or to share memes on 2G? It’s not hard. I used to update my Instagram regularly, for fun. Someone who has a purpose can achieve a lot on 2G. And, yet when whole world had shifted to online education, Kashmiri students were holed up in their homes with 2G internet and therefore, no scope for online education. It seems every other advertisement, on TV, promoting online education, payment, or service mocks Kashmiris. In the decisions of trade-offs between education and “security”, between rights and “limiting propaganda” the formers hold no value. It’s so because they belong to Kashmiris.

I remember, when I was in 10th grade, how frustrated was I due to curfews and lockdowns that suffocated my education. I used to sit frustrated and hurl abuses at everything that wasn’t letting me study, and at times, in hopelessness, I’ve even cried. I remember, how one of my friends who was going to school was asked go back inside his home at a gunpoint. I remember, how I was so interested in the science of things. My dreams of a good education soon fell crashing. After all, I could only salvage three months of school education in both my tenth (due to Amarnath Land Row), and twelfth (due to Shopian Rape Case). Of course, this had long-lasting repercussions.

I’d thought an escape from Kashmir will help me escape these miseries. What did I know that something like Coronavirus will come and have me back here at the whims and likes of those who hold no regard for my career, or rights, or even life.
Today, I woke up in the morning to see no internet on my phone. Immediately, I knew something was up. Like most of the students in the world, I am on online education. So, I called up one of my cousins, Saif, who has a broadband connection. “The internet is down, what’s up?”, I asked. “There’s been an encounter, a top militant has been killed. Mobile internet has been cut off” he said. I thanked him, disconnected, and immediately called a few of my college friends. I asked them to call me if any important mail comes up. An hour later, the government cut-off voice calls and SMS. Fearing they might cut-off the landline too, I’m running, in my flip-flops, to a nearby grocery store that has a landline connection. I call one of my friends, Ajay, who is also the class representative. I tell him, “They’ve cut-off the voice calls and SMS too, they might also cut-off the landline and broadband. If you don’t hear from me until tomorrow at 11:00 P.M., inform the college administration”. It was implied that I wouldn’t be able to submit any assignments or take any tests.

“What ahead?” standing at the counter of the grocery shop, I thought. I called upon landline connection of the cousin who has the broadband connection, Saif, and asked him if it was working. He said, “yes, for now it is”. I was now thinking if I can go to his place. But how? There’s a lockdown in force and he lives 10 km. away.

“I have to reach there, I’ve no option.” I thought. I, thus, planned to leave in the middle of the night. If hopefully broadbands keep on working, I had it all sorted out. I had some tea at iftar and went upstairs to my room.
I am sat on my desk. “Let me complete this assignment and submit it tomorrow at his place.” I play the video lecture that I’d downloaded last night. However, soon I discover it is only half the lecture. I can’t do the assignment with this alone I need to watch the other half too. So, I here am thinking, gazing at the tungsten red-light that glazes across the wall, forming no shape. It’s disinteresting, yet I stare at it. I’m thinking, “how am I going to submit this assignment?”

P.S. This anecdote was uploaded from my cousin Saif’s place. I had to dodge multiple barbed wire blockades, and face interrogation from multiple policemen as to where I was going and why? I had to show them my laptop and books and tell them that I’d a very important online test to take. We Kashmiris have to struggle for everything, things that a non-Kashmiri doesn’t even have to think about.